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[personal profile] tinediserp
Title: Beach Comber Pt. II
Characters: Norway/Sweden
Warnings: Frottage, handjobs - my writing - you know - with the dashes everywhere - I should work on that - like, for real.


They drew closer and met halfway, light and hesitant, no tongue, simply warm lips grazing warm lips. Sweden took a chance and pressed himself along Norway's body, feeling the heat seep through their clothing, a contrast to the cool ocean that crept ever closer to them.

Norway placed a hand to his hip, the other tangling itself in his hair - Sweden sucked in a breath. He wasn’t expecting Norway to be so forward, not here. He deepened the kiss and smiled a bit as Norway nipped at his lower lip.

More soft, gentle touches, gentle motions of lips and tongue, and they wound themselves into one another with deep breaths and nearly-hissed reassurances.

Both were audible over the sound of the water beneath them, but perhaps that was just him, perhaps he was just so tuned into Norway’s responses that everything else faded into the background.

Sweden pulled back - he wanted to keep going, but Norway was so private - he swallowed and looked away.

"Somethin' the matter?"

Sweden let the arm around Norway trail away and shifted, embarrassed, not knowing how to bring it up. It might be best to just say it - Norway appreciated directness. He forced down his embarrassment. "We're out'n th' open..."

He frowned at the sudden coolness when Norway drew back, and watched as Norway looked left, right, made a half-turn only to meet Sweden's eyes and shrug with a shoulder. "Don' see no one here."

A split-second pause as Sweden's mind processed that, and then as if on cue they were together again. More intense, now, deep kisses, roaming hands, the insistent press and warmth and an urgency that clashed with the calm, constant movement of the ocean at their feet.

Norway suddenly sat down, right in the wet sand and surging waves, and pulled Sweden along. Sweden knew better than to question. He just went along with it, awkwardly straddling Norway and craning his head down to join their lips once more. Followed Norway down as he lowered himself to the sand, the water - still didn't question. Norway's warm body between his thighs, the heat he felt between them, the salt water that rushed up between them, Sweden drew away, came back up softly -

He could tell Norway liked the night, and the waves, just so much as he liked Sweden's company.

It was Norway. He could give him this.

Norway yanked him down, crashing their lips together over the crash of a wave breaking not so far away, grabbed Sweden's hips and pulled them flush against one another even as the wave rode up and soaked them.

Sweden ground down as Norway's fingers dug into his hips, the nape of his neck - as Norway pushed up in a silent demand for more. As the water receded and they stuck to one another, cool cloth clinging to skin and their own bodies, meshed together, sparking to life.

They were hard, hot, heavy breaths somehow coordinated in time to the ocean's pounding behind, around them.

Norway shifted beneath him, hand working fast on the opening to his trousers, and soon enough had taken Sweden's hand and placed it there, where it needed to be.

Sweden moved his weight to one hip and one elbow, buried himself in the sand and surf, allowed his other arm freedom of movement.

"Faster," Norway grunted.

Sweden nodded, swallowed, did as he was told. Pushed himself against Norway's hip and let out a small sound that got lost in the waves as Norway's hand dug itself down past his waistband.

Another wave, and Sweden watched as Norway drug the fingers of his other hand through it, took in the starlit sky before reaching out and pulling Sweden down for another bruising kiss. Sweden couldn't help it - he thrust again, Norway's calloused hand smashed between himself, his underwear, and Norway's own damp clothing - salty and sticky and wet - perhaps he gripped Norway with more force than he needed to, his hand tightening despite himself.

It went over better than Sweden thought. Norway groaned, a small thing, as another wave rode alongside them. Kissed Sweden again and bit his lip hard this time, another command, another encouragement. Norway bucked, the water whorled back to its source between them, they lined up along one another until the heat, the pressure, it was nearly painful - and still not enough.

Sweden could feel the repetitive tightening of Norway's thighs, calves, wet and fabric-clad, between his own, and it was in sync with the rhythm the waves brought to the night. Sweden matched the kiss to it, his hand to it -

"No," Norway pulled away, nearly gasping, voice very low, very rough. "Don' slow down."

A pause where they simply stared at one another, just one second, and another wave washed over them. Its pounding not nearly as heavy as their breaths, as needy or insistent as he felt. As he hoped Norway felt. Sweden pumped Norway once, slowly, and began nipping at his neck as his own hand sped up. As Norway's resumed its slow, staggered motions at the awkward angle it was at. Sweden didn't mind, not when Norway was enjoying this so much, not when Norway looked as he did - soaked in the seawater he loved so much, in his element, hair damp, mouth slightly parted, quietly reveling in the dual sensations of Sweden's body and the ocean, his ocean, insistently pressing.

Sweden's mouth was lapping along the fluttering pulse - obvious even in the dim light - beneath Norway's skin, when a wave drew itself around them, splashing, salty, more than he was expecting. Norway suddenly bucked, let out a low sound, let his hand feel the water as he came beneath Sweden.

He was gorgeous.

Eyes half-closed, spine arched, the dark ocean seemed to wrap itself around him perfectly - his hand around Sweden clenched and Sweden grunted even as he brought Norway to completion.

They remained there, panting, the waves suddenly loud and rushing, repetitive, the motions a stark contrast to their own stiffness and stilted, shuddering chests.

Norway gave him a lazy kiss and pulled his hand away. Sweden licked his lips and refrained from moving.

Finally a lull in the tide, and Norway gave him a lazy smirk.

"Should prob'ly finish you off in th' car."

Sweden rolled off of him and sat up, body still sticky and thrumming from – from everything. Norway sat up as well, looking calm and contemplative in the moonlight even while adjusting himself. How could he do such an act so nonchalantly?

Norway looked over and grinned. Outright grinned, teeth and all. Then he stood up. "C'mon, let's get to yer place already."




And then I finally finished the final edit. Not much different from the original now that I look at it. What is my life.
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